


The First Law is not Obedience

by NotJustFeet



Category: Black Jewels - Anne Bishop, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-28
Updated: 2012-10-20
Packaged: 2017-11-10 22:11:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 6,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/471254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotJustFeet/pseuds/NotJustFeet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Crossover with the Black Jewels Series. Red Jeweled Queen and Black Widow Natasha seeks out a new, quiet life in Kaeleer. Until she meets Warlord Prince Clint Barton.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [ this prompt ](http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/6565.html?thread=11357093#t11357093) at AvengerKink.

She knew how to act broken. It was the first thing that she learnt, back in the red, red room. They wanted her body, they didn't want her mind, and so they tried to break her. She tried to fight, but she just wasn't quite good enough to stop them physically. They tried to break her, tried to make her less than she was, but they just couldn't do it. Her RED strength was still intact.

Oh, they thought that they did break her, her Craft, woven on the edges of the Twisted Kingdom, saw to that. Born of desperation, born of need, she wove the tangled web that she needed to conceal.

A broken Queen is no threat to anyone, and so she slid under their eyes. There were no other sisters of the Hourglass to tell anyone different, and she took care to hide that affiliation. Apparently broken, she was not of interest any more, and only remained to hide her away from the world. Some still used her, abused her, but mostly she was left alone.

Challiot was not a safe place, anymore, if it had ever been. But there were rumours of another place slowly seeping through the grapevine. Kaeleer. A word that was filled with hope, and perhaps a promise.

Natasha knew better than to believe in hope, but she still found herself passing through the Gate in search of something.

The service fair was much what she expected. A broken witch was of little interest to anyone legitimate, and she didn't have to coin to thrust herself to centre stage. The only contract that she was offered was for a Red Moon house.

Until, on the third day, he came.


	2. Two

Clint hated coming to the service fair, but his Queen commanded it. Well, his Queen through her Master of the Guard. Clint may have been a Warlord Prince himself, but he was not going to argue with Fury. His job was to look through the hopefuls, and see which, if any, caught his eye. He would then pass his recommendations on up the chain of commands.

Exactly why they thought a Purple Dusk Warlord Prince was a good judge of character, he didn’t know. Perhaps it was a job to simply keep him out of the way. He wouldn’t put it past Fury, although he hoped Queen Maria wouldn’t be that manipulative.

He wasn’t even looking when he caught the psychic scent. It was silk and blood, teasing at his senses, drifting in and around his mind like a sweet, sweet fog. It was tenuous, insubstantial, but Clint wanted it more than anything else in the world.

There was no other woman who had affected him like this. No other scent that called so strongly to him, despite its vagueness. He felt himself rising to the killing edge as his senses, his mind sharpened. He would find the owner, and he would kneel at her feet.

A Warlord Prince on the killing edge was dangerous. A Warlord Prince on the killing edge looking for someone, was even more so. His path cleared, but Clint barely noticed, still searching, still trying to tease that silken scent into something stronger.

He kept casting out with his strength, but when he finally touched something, the shock stopped him in his tracks. It was dark, it was dangerous, venom coursing so close to his mind. It was red, blood red and spider silk, tattered and torn and yet intact.

The blank-eyed stare of the broken witch, huddled in on herself in the mud, sharpened as Clint continued to stare at her. She looked broken, and felt broken to his strength but she also felt whole to everything that made him a Warlord Prince. Standing at the level of Purple Dusk, he could feel her beneath him, testing him, brushing against his shields. He wanted to kneel at her feet, submit to him, let her chain him within the bounds of Protocol.

But not yet. Her slowly sharpening gaze warned him not to. The way that her psychic presence pressed venom soaked power to his inner web kept him calm, kept him from lashing out at anyone who had hurt his Queen.

He did the only thing that he could do. He dropped his shields, and let her in.


	3. Three

She was scared and angry, at himself and at herself. She was not gentle rummaging through his mind, searching for something to use against him, something that would give her some clue as to how he had seen through her tangled web.

He hadn’t though, that was the strange thing. She was still broken to his strength, but whole to his heart, and it was that thought that almost made her strike. She was a Queen, and she did not have to submit any more. He admired her, yes, as any man would admire a woman. But he did not desire her, and it was that which protected him. Instead, he wanted to serve her with all that he was, leash himself to her, and obey.

She felt the icy coldness of the killing edge racing through him, freezing the edges of his Purple Dusk web. She felt the pull and allure of her psychic scent.

He felt her pain and her strength. He felt her desire to believe, and her desire to live.

They didn’t need to speak, distaff to spear. In that intimate mind-to-mind contact, they understood each other.

She slid out of his mind and back to her own, and he blinked at the sense of loss.

“Come with me,” Clint said sharply, and obediently, Natasha stood, wavering on her feet. His hand shot out to grab her arm with what looked like bruising force. To Natasha, it felt like what she imagined a butterfly landing on skin would feel like.

He would not hurt her, but this charade had to be played out. A Purple Dusk Warlord Prince would not be allowed to take a Red Queen from the service fair, but a broken witch was fair game, if you knew which palms to grease.

Natasha could feel the discontent underneath the coldness, the distaste at what he was having to do to take care of his Queen. But there was Protocol, and there was protocol, and until she could stand forth as an unbroken Queen, it was easy to keep up the pretence.

Finally though, the contract was signed and sealed, and they were free to leave.

The Web Coach was empty, and as soon as the door closed behind them, Clint released his grip on Natasha’s wrist, and knelt, resting his head on her knee, breathing deeply. Natasha cautiously sat, letting herself tap into the red strength, calming herself. Carefully, warily, she extended a hand, and wiggled her fingers into his dirty blond hair.

*My Queen, I am Clint Barton* he sent, spear to distaff, an official introduction to go with the psychic one.

*Natasha Romonov* she returned in the same fashion *What happens now?*

Clint chuckled softly. *Now, we return to my home village and you can watch me getting shouted at.*

Possessiveness and a desire to protect welled up in her, unexpectedly. *No*

*They will not disapprove of what I did, only the reckless manner I did it.*

*I like your recklessness* Natasha said thoughtfully.


	4. Four

The further the Coach carried her from the fair, the safer Natasha started to feel. The Warlord Prince, her Warlord Prince she could say in the privacy of her mind, was half sleeping, lulled by the feel of her fingers in his hair. He didn’t seem to care about the snake tooth that hovered so near his vulnerable skin, or that fact that she could use her strength to burn his inner web and sending him screaming into the Darkness.

The Darkness help her, she didn’t feel threatened by him. Maybe this was how having a brother would have felt. He didn’t set her teeth on edge, didn’t make her skin crawl. Here was a male that she might be able to trust.

She must have dozed a little herself, comfortable in her new knowledge, because the feel of the Coach landing woke her. Mazy blue eyes looked up at her as Clint came back to the land of the conscious.

“So what happens now?” she asked softly.

“Now I explain to Queen Maria why I wish to be released from her court.”

“I have no plans for a court,” Natasha said cooly.

“Whether you do or not, you’re stuck with me,” and his cocky tone of voice was offset by the appeal in his eyes. If a Warlord Prince was told to walk away, then he would, he couldn’t do anything else. But he didn’t want to be sent away, didn’t want to lose his Queen so soon after finding her. With a small shock, Natasha realised just how much power she had.

She chose not to wield it. “Maybe you won’t be able to put up with me,” she teased lightly.

He would have responded, she could see it in the way his lips quirked, but the Coach door was flung open with a burst of Sapphire power.

A one-eyed man glared inside, and Natasha felt the air chill as Clint matched him glare for glare.

Natasha let a little of her own power snap forth, warm and biting, warning.

The man looked to her, and the force of his glare lessened slightly. Natasha felt her tangled web cling tighter to her strength. This male was a threat. This male was dangerous. A shiver of fear trailed up her spine, and she fought the ingrained urge to cower. She was a Queen. No longer did she have to hide.

Beside her, Clint was white and stiff, eyes like chips of ice.

The Sapphire Warlord Prince raised both hands, and stepped back from the Coach. Fear receeded.

“Barton, escort your lady to the Queen,” he said. “Then come to my office.”

“Fury,” and there was acquiescence in the way Clint spoke the others name. No titles either, Natasha noted.

Fury left, looking back over one shoulder as he did so. Clint growled under his breath

“Pissing contest?” Natasha asked dryly.

Clint scratched the back of his neck, and Natasha thought that he felt sheepish.

“The Master of the Guard believes that I have a problem with authority.”

“Male authority?”

“Yeah.”

Natasha smiled. *Best behaviour then, my Prince*

*As my Queen commands*

But Clint only felt pride that his Queen had acknowledged him.


	5. Five

As Natasha stepped from the Coach, a shard of power stabbed into her heel and travelled up her leg, expanding in warm concentric circles.

The land here was more alive than any she had felt before. It was warm, vibrant, pulsing. It called to her, soothed her, seduced her.

The red web hummed Homehomehome, and she stumbled as the meaning sunk into her marrow.

Clint caught her arm to steady her, and she did not snarl. She let his male strength centre her, ground her again, all the while feeling the pulse of the land drumming against her barriers.

“Natasha?” Clint asked warily.

“The land wants me,” she said, half dazed. “It's calling.”

An eyebrow raised in curiosity, but Clint did not say anything. What could a male say to a Queen?

There was a pressure to accept the land, but Natasha hesitated. She could fell the feminine power already within the land, warm and strong.

Opal noticed her, recognised her, and welcomed her.

Coming back to herself again, Natasha found that Clint had escorted/guided her down the side street and to the outside of a small house with a slate roof. Window boxes on the sills were a riot of colourful flowers, spilling over and down to the ground. Outside the door leaned a man who's psychic scent was that of a prince, his vivid blue eyes half closed in the warmth of the sun. A Sapphire shield sparkled fitfully in front of the door.

Their footsteps on the cobblestones alerted him to their presence, and he opened his eyes. His grin when he saw Clint was broad and innocent. It sharpened when he saw Natasha, and he offered a formal salute.

“Lord Steve,” Clint greeted warmly.

“Prince Clint, Lady,” Steve returned.

“The Master of the Guard requires my presence,” Clint said dryly.

Steve winced. “Again?” he asked.

“For an explanation of Lady Natasha's presence,” Clint added.

“He had promised me he will be on his best behaviour,” Natasha added.

There was something about Steve that set butterflies to tumbling in her stomach, with his eyes as blue as his jewels. Here, within a short space of time was another powerful male who was not a threat to her. She actually thought she might like him.

“By your leave, my lady, I will asked Steve to escort you in to see Queen Maria.”

Natasha nodded her acceptance. “Return when you can, my prince,” she said.

She couldn't help but love the look of pride that flashed through Clint's eyes for a moment before he turned and retraced his footsteps.

Steve bowed to her again, lower caste Prince to higher caste Queen. It was protocol perfect. He then offered his arm as the shield dissolved, and the door opened.

The walls of the cottage were washed with the strong feminine psychic scent, homely and welcoming. With her hand resting lightly on Steve's arm, Natasha stepped in over the threshold.

She felt the last remains of her tangled web twist and release her, shredding into nothingness. No illusions, no lies, she stood barefaced to the world now. It was a little overwhelming.

The door opened into a cheerful yellow kitchen with a sturdy white painted table in the centre.

Surrounded by all the usual kitchen paraphernalia a woman sat at the table. She wore a russet shirt and black trousers, and cradled a mug in her hands.

She looked up at them.

*Well met, sister,* she spoke directly to Natasha.

Natasha was a red-jeweled Queen and Black Widow, and was as proud of herself as any Blood female. But Maria was a ruling queen and had experience on her side. Under that gaze, Natasha felt as gauche and as insecure as a child. The ingrained habits tried to slink back.

Maria smiled as if she could hear Natasha's thoughts and rose, offering her hand palm up in the formal greeting.

“Steve, please go and find Coulson and ask him to attend me,” Maria spoke, as Natasha reached out her own hands. Palm met palm and opal met red.

*There is no need to be worried* Maria spoke as Steve left. *We will make everything work*

Natasha believed her.


	6. Six

Fury had taken to pacing his office, but did wait till Clint closed the door before throwing up an aural shield. His one eye glared at Clint.

“Well?” he snapped out.

This was the Master of the Guard, and Clint should feel subservient, should be subservient This was one of the most important males of the court.

As he listened to the slow beat of his heart, Clint wanted to tear Fury's throat out.

Rage bubbled through him, a warm sweet darkness. Only the promise to his Queen kept him that half step away from the killing edge.

“What exactly would you like to know?” Clint couldn’t help the edge that tinged his tone.

“Well, why you don't you start at the damned beginning, and work from there?” Fury suggested, just as edgily.

Clint did, outlining the basic points of what happened, keeping his Queen's face firmly in his mind. He was honest, the Master could spot even a thought lie. He covered everything up to the point of walking past the point where Natasha waited. He hesitated.

If anyone could understand what had happened, it would be Fury. If anyone could understand the desires of an unbonded Warlord Prince, it was a bonded one. But this was Fury, bad-tempered and easily aggravated.

Natasha's reminder thrummed in his head. Be nice.

Fury leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers.

“At ease,” he said. “The lady will be staying. Our discussion will not change that.”

Another half step away from the killing edge.

“She seemed broken, but felt strong,” Clint began. “I couldn't leave her.”

“Moth to a flame,” Fury remarked, but his posture was easing now. Clint wasn't entirely sure what was causing this change of attitude.

“I now all the right people to bribe to take possession of a broken witch. I didn't like it, but it was the only way to make sure that she was safe.”

Fine control threatened to splinter at the reminder of what had been.

“easy, son,” and Clint started at the tone in the other mans voice. He expected scorn, disdain, but not this acceptance.

“I can't, and won't, speak for Maria, but I can feel she is pleased with the Lady. She'll be part of the Third Circle of the Court. Just remember the First Law, Clint,”

“We serve,” Clint said softly.

“Yes.”

Bad-tempered or not, Fury understood. Warlord Prince to Warlord Prince, he knew. Without a word having to be spoken, Clint knew that Fury had felt the same pull, the same hunger.

And for the first time in his service, Clint understood, and liked, Fury.

“Get back to your Lady,” Fury said. Clint did not need to be told a second time. 

 

\------------------

The feminine giggles coming from the cottage were enough to disturb any male. Clint found Steve back on guard outside the cottage, looking straight ahead.

“Still in there?” Clint asked. Steve nodded.

“Do we want to know what they're talking about?”

A hint of a smile touched Steve's stoic features as he shook his head.

But Steve would have said something if the meeting had gone wrong, and there was no witchstorm or feel of a witch acting the bitch.

So Clint took up a position against the frame, the other side to Steve, and slouched.

Natasha was near, and her scent soothed him. She was calm, far less wary, and he was pleased. If anything made that fear spike again, he would be inside in a heartbeat.

A comfortable silence fell between the two males as they stood, trying not to listen to the female chatter.

Slowly though, Clint realised that he was not the only one listening to the sound of Natasha's voice. With every rise and fall, Steve's mouth twitched.

Court Brothers, whispered part of him. Someone else to cherish, love and protect their Queen. The Warlord Prince part of his nature was soothed. Steve was a friend, not an enemy. Steve would give his life for their Queen.

Perhaps Steve didn't even recognise the pull. Maybe it was something that Princes' didn't feel as strongly.

Further up the street, another door opened. Two men stepped out, both hidden behind papers. Their psychic scents were unmistakable though, and Clint let the warm rage manifest again, and seethe through him. These were Warlord Princes, these were a threat, and he would defend his Queen.

Inside the sound of voices stopped, as Clint stepped in front of the door. , pulling his lips back in a snarl.

One of those approaching stopped in his tracks. The other shrugged and kept moving. 

“Assistant Stark,” Steve warned in a low voice.

The arms full of paper lowered slightly to reveal a sardonic smirk set in a neatly trimmed beard. The look was cocky, self-assured, and Clint itched to smash it from the other man's face, to assert his dominance and to keep this man away from his Queen.

“Feeling itchy?” Stark said, mock sympathy in his tone as he addressed Clint.

“What do you want, Stark,” Clint snarled.

“The Queens wanted to see the maps of the district and villages, as well as any other services I could provide.”

Clint knew that Tony Stark was an intelligent man. He was currently learning the ins and outs of the Stewards role, before that he had been taught how to serve as a Consort. He was a jack of all trades, a master of none, and Clint really disliked the rose jewelled son of a bitch. It wasn't the insinuation that Stark was willing to warm Natasha's bed. It was a Queens right to invite whomever she chose.

Stark had no respect for Jewel rank, caste, or protocol. Clint's Queen did not need that disrespect.

Stark had upset another witch in the Court, and Clint's Queen did not need that pain.

To protect, he would not let Tony past.


	7. Seven

Natasha hadn't had a female friend before. It hadn't been safe to get too attached in the red rooms, never knowing who would disappear or be made different. 

She thought that maybe Maria could be a friend.

They had settled at the table with cups of biting coffee and in between sips of the scalding brew, Natasha told her story. Maria made all the right noises and exclamations, her own witches temper flaring up when Natasha spoke of the Red Moon contract.

She was comfortable to talk to, al spikes and honesty. Maria didn't even seem to mind Clint's loyalty changing, explaining it as a male thing. 

“I always thought he would find the Queen he could love and respect,” she had said. “He respected me, but now he's found someone to love, I won't be spiteful and refuse his leaving.”

Coulson had come and gone again in search of the right documents, barely noticing the new Queen. They had moved onto discussing furnishing when Maria looked up as a flash of male temper flared up. It tasted of Clint, dark and deep, solid ice coating the edges.

“Hells fire,” Maria growled. “Tony.”

In accord with each other, the two Queens stood. With a flash of Opal the door was opened onto the scene in the street.

“Tony, enough!”

“Clint, enough!”

Two commands, two men instantly down on their knees.

Tony looked up at Maria, and his nostrils flared as he took a deep breath, noticing Natasha for the first time. The look that crossed his face was the same as Clint had worn. Clint had seen it too, but before he could make his leap, Natasha bound him in a red web.

“I don't mean to steal your males,” she said apologetically to Maria, who was watching the kneeling Tony with amusement.

“And that's the difference, Natasha,” Maria told her. “They've found the strong Queen they wish to serve.”

“I didn't want a court,” Natasha growled.

“You may not have much of a choice,” Maria said, not without sympathy.

Natasha looked at Clint, at Tony, and at the silently standing Steve. She could feel the pull of all three of them.

She let the red web dissolve. If she was to be a Queen, court or not, then she would be proper about it.

She straightened her posture and raised her head.

“Attend,” she snapped out, and three sets of eyes snapped to her. Maria smiled, and slipped back inside the cottage.

“I will not tolerate my court fighting amongst themselves. If you wish to serve, you will work this out. Otherwise, walk away.”

Steve knelt at her words, those blue eyes downcast.

“I will not walk away from you, my Queen,” Clint said firmly, as he pulled himself to his feet. “Prince Tony, I apologise for my behaviour.” 

He did a good job of hiding any resentment, burying it beneath duty and protocol. Natasha made a mental note to speak to him later. It hadn't been her intention to shame him, but a Queen had to have control of her court.

The new Warlord Prince, Tony, smirked confidently as he rose and passed her the documents that he held, and still had not dropped. He was most certainly trouble on two lets. She met his cocky look with one of her own, letting her lips quirk in a not quite snarl. Finally, he dropped his eyes, and she nodded.

“If you've quite finished having a pissing contest in the street, I have to look at houses now.”

All of the males nodded, and Natasha stepped back into the cottage, closing the door behind her and leaning on it with a shaky sigh. An Opal shield snapped up around the kitchen, auditory and visual.

“Steve is too well mannered to pry, and that'll keep the others out,” Maria said. “Brandy?”

Natasha accepted the glass gratefully and relished the burn in the back of her throat before her red jewels burned up the alcohol.

“I can't believe I just did that,” she admitted.

“Natasha, you have a double gift. You're a strong Queen, and a talented Black Widow. Don't second guess yourself. You'll thrive here. Its where you were meant to be.”


	8. Eight

Fury had made clear what Maria had hinted at. This was not an official court. She'd need more males than that, and Natasha felt that she had enough to deal with, with three. The Steward, Coulson, had brought details and maps of the local area. Maria was a District Queen, ruling over three villages. She had an idea of where Natasha might live.

Natasha did not want to take charity, but she recognised that she had no choice. She had come to Kaeleer with nothing but the ragged clothes on her back, and the few personal possessions she had stored away. Every speck of coin she scraped together had bought her way into the service fair, and that left very little. Someday though, she was repay Maria for her kindness.

And Maria had not hidden the fact that Natasha would also have to check in with the Territory and Province Queens.

The atmosphere in the Coach was tense as Natasha entered. Tony slouched on one bench, with Steve opposite him. Clint sat with his head in his hands, but looked up at Natasha.

“May I have a word?” Natasha asked him, very careful to use a requesting tone. Clint nodded, and rose.

The Coach wasn't one of the largest, but there was still room for a small study. Natasha red-locked the door behind them both and put up an aural shield. Clint leaned against the desk, outwardly tense, but content.

A Queen did not have to explain herself to any male.

Natasha wanted to explain herself to Clint.

“I don't know how to be a Queen,” she said softly. “I can pretend, but its just a role.”

Clint said nothing, but his eyes betrayed his confusion.

“I trust you, Clint, the Darkness only knows why considering my past. You're the first Warlord Prince I can say that about. You let me into your mind. If I had wanted, I could have burned your mind to ash, and you would have let me.”

“You're my Queen,” Clint said simply.

She locked eyes with him.

*You're part of the Inner Triangle, First Escort Clint* she sent. *Court or not. Maria tells me that Tony needs a strong Queen, needs to understand that he is subordinate. That was why I was so strong. I cannot trust him, I cannot be vulnerable to him. Not yet.*

Understanding lit in Clint's eyes. *To be firm with one, be firm with all*

*Yes.*

*You were right though, lady. I was out of line* he sent, along with an invitation to peep inside his barriers.

She saw what he would like to do, and slowly nodded, bracing herself. Clint stepped away from the desk, control in every step. He wrapped one arm around her waist loosely, and leaned his head on her shoulder, breathing deeply. She had room to manoeuvre, room to escape if she chose, if the maleness grew to be too much.

Instead, she wrapped her arm around his shoulders, and felt his warmth radiating through his shirt. She wouldn't let Challiot taint her future.

*Your will is my life. Take what you need.* he said formally. Instead of kneeling, he opened his mind fully again.

Natasha could have stood like that forever, relishing in the trust and surrender, but there was a soft knock on the door. Clint came alert and his barriers came up as he stepped away from her.

“May I enter, Lady?” came the voice of Steve, audible only to Natasha through her shielding.

“Come in,” Natasha said, releasing the lock and the shield. 

Steve looked out of place as he entered, almost as if he was moving on a painted background. There was still that shiver of recognition though.

Steve dropped to his knees. “Your will is my life. Take what you need,” he repeated the vow.

“You're keen,” Clint said, conveniently forgetting that he had said those same words not that long ago.

“I've found my Queen,” Steve said simply. Despite his caste, there was a touch of the Warlord Prince possessiveness in his words. Natasha could feel Clint's approval.

“Is this a private party, or can anyone join?” and Tony spoke from the doorway. The study was starting to feel crowded now.

“Anyone can,” Clint spoke up, all tenseness come from him now. 

Tony looked at the knelling Steve, and up at Natasha, and back at Steve.

Slowly, Tony knelt as well, and Steve twitched his legs aside to give Tony more room. 

The rose web thrummed above Natasha as Tony spoke his vow silently. In the mind, his words were missing the mocking tone his physical words were edged with.

His brown eyes bored into her green, but Natasha maintained a steady look. Clint flicked a questioning tone at her, and she twitched a finger no, behind her back.

Mind to mind, she could sense the looming complexity of Tonys mind, draped in rose red sarcasm.

*Thank you* she sent softly. Tony did not respond as he rose, followed by Steve.

“All done?” Tony said. “Time for a nap, then.”

Natasha nodded, and let Clint escort her to a seat while Steve went to consult with the driver.

With eyes closed, Natasha was left alone with her thoughts.


	9. Nine

The gravel crunched under Natasha's feet as she slowly walked down the drive, under the arch of over hanging trees.

The land purred to her, surrounding her, asking and offering protection. From the moment she had stepped from the coach at what was to be her new home, the land had stabbed her. It wanted a Queen. It needed her.

This time, she could accept.

She had been pleasantly surprised at how quickly she had settled in, and how easily Steve, Tony and Clint had found a routine.

The sun was barely up and the air still had the chill of the night. It was refreshing, and Natasha gloried in it. She could be alone, but know that friendship was only a heartbeat away. It was so different to the Red Room, and it was her life now.

The fluttering green leaves overhead rustled, and Natasha hummed a fragment of song under her breath, pulled up from the recesses of her memory.

A cramp across her midsection reminded her of the other reason she had come outside.

This was her moontime, her first since she had met her males. Natasha was a little unsure of how they would react, and just how volatile her Warlord Princes would become.

She knew that they would scold her for going out alone while she was vulnerable, while she couldn't defend herself with the power of her jewels. Part of her actually looked forward to their scolding. She knew that they would only do it out of concern, and it was that concern that made her feel loved.

Feminine laughter rang out from her left, clear and unaffected. Natasha started at the unexpected sound. Automatically she tried to sense who was there, but a scorching burst of pain shot through her and made her double over. Her breath caught in her throat and she exhaled on an audible moan.

The pain ebbed and Natasha made herself stand straight, resting one hand on her abdomen. As she looked up, she saw that she wasn't alone.

A man and a woman stood just beneath the trees. The woman was young and dark haired, carrying a basket on her arm that brimmed with greenery. The man held her free arm gently while staring at Natasha.

The wind gusted, making Natasha's red hair flutter. The man took a deep breath and Natasha felt the air chill as his eyes become glazed and sleepy.

Hells fire, mother night and may the darkness be merciful, she was standing in front of an unknown Warlord Prince, who had caught the scent of her moonsblood and had risen to the killing edge in the span of a heartbeat.

She knew better than to run.

She knew better than to show fear.

They had a silent stand off, with the other woman looking back and forth between them, understanding clear in her eyes, matched by indecision.

The dull ache slowly awoke again in Natasha' abdomen, gradually building in pain and pressure. It crescendoed and washed over her, and she dug her nails into her side and tried to stay emotionless. 

Passionately violent and violently passionate, she did not know how this Warlord Prince would react.

When he moved, it was to push his female companion towards her.

“Heal,” he growled, before he started to pace. Natasha steadied the woman, who shook her head.

“I'm sorry about this, Lady,” she said, setting the basket down at her feet.

*Males* was her silent distaff to distaff comment.

“I'm Betty, the Healer down in the village. That's Bruce, my husband. Queen Maria sent word that someone might be moving in up here. She's always allowed us to gather herbs around here.”

Her chatter was informative and soothing as she probed at Natasha with her Craft.

“Is he usually so talkative?” Natasha asked.

Betty grinned. “Usually. If you're finished with your walk, we'll escort you back up to the house, and brew you something for those cramps.”

“I'm finished,” Natasha said.

She suspected that even if she hadn't been finished, Bruce would have dragged her back to the house anyway. Bruce paced around them in a circle as they moved back towards the house, an icy chill seeming to follow him. Natasha tried to judge how close to the edge he was. There were three other males she had to worry about, and she knew that in her current condition they would not take kindly to a strange Warlord Prince.

Any plans that she could have made were moot as Clint appeared further up the drive. She felt his touch on her mind, felt him assessing the strangers.

Bruce growled, and Clint snarled back, the sound becoming more violent and ragged as he picked up Natasha's scent.

“Prince Clint, attend me,” Natasha snapped out. “Prince Bruce, attend your lady.” There was no whip crack of power behind her words, nothing she could use to protect apart from her innate strength. Clint broke off his aggression and moved solicitously towards Natasha. His concern was obvious on his face, and it was that concern that seemed to calm Bruce down.

Betty relinquished Natasha's arm and Clint took her place as another wave of cramps doubled Natasha over.

Clint, wonder of wonders, must have been able to persuade Tony and Steve to stay away, for there was no sign of them in the kitchen, only the fading psychic scents. As soon as they stepped into the kitchen, Betty took charge. Clint escorted Natasha to a chair before he was directed to get water boiling. Bruce was chivvyed into chopping herbs while Betty made sure the right amounts made it into the water.

Natasha simply sat and watched, and let them fuss. It was strange to be fussed over like this, strange to be cared for. No one had ever cared about her moontime before, no one had ever made her a brew for the pain. No one had shown her how to make them for herself. And even though her body was hurting and she was powerless unless she wanted more pain, she didn't feel scared or threatened.

She felt safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is now going on a hiatus. I'm not abandoning it as I enjoy playing around with it too much, but I need to take a break and iron out some holes in it.


End file.
